Breaking Points Chapter 1: Poker Face
by Black-Rose-117
Summary: As John goes out for a night on the town, Sherlock, bored out of his hyperactive mind, decides to tag along. A wager placed between Lestrade and John against Sherlock results in all three in a chaotic calamity. As feelings clash and friends become enemys, not even the famous Sherlock Holmes can sort things out before the situation get out of hand.
1. Chapter 1: Poker Face

John takes his coat from the rack and slipped it over his shoulders, feeling the cool leather slid over his skin. He was wearing something outside his normal out-wear, and it didn't take Sherlock more than a couple seconds to realize the difference. Being pulled from his deep thoughts, Sherlock stood and glided over to John, moving around him and looking him over. He stopped in front of John and looked him over, hands raising to his chin.

"Sherlock?" John asked, watching his flat mate stare down at his clothes.

Sherlock snapped his attention back to John.

"You're different. But why? T-shirt, obviously going no where fancy. But you're wearing your good jacket, meaning you care about what people think of you at this place. Dark glasses even though the clouds are out and such a item isn't needed. Jeans, new, but ripped, obviously bought that way. Been worn once, no, twice. Three times now. Shirt, plain white, meant to give you a... mysterious look, am I correct, of course I am. But why would you want to look mysterious unless you were going somewhere with a tougher crowed? No gun, so obviously not a bar. Cash, one-hundred, no, one-fifty pounds in your pocket. Going gambling are we?" Sherlock said, ending with a smile.

John stood there and listened to Sherlock, mouth open slightly. He shook his head and snapped out of the trance. "There is no way you knew how much money I had on me just by-"

"Receipt, John," Sherlock said, holding up the small piece of paper. He pocketed it and continued. "I want to come."

"What?" John laughed, raising his eyebrow at Sherlock. "You? Gamble? Why?"

"No, I've never gambled," Sherlock sighed, looking at the door, annoyance crossing his facial features. "But it's boring here, theres no new cases, and I wouldn't mind trying it."

John sighed, letting the smile slip from his face. He shrugged and looked Sherlock over. "Fine, if you want to come along. I'm meeting Greg there, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came."

"Greg? You mean Lestrade?"

"Yes, Sherlock. His name -is- Greg."

Sherlock shrugged and reached over John for his coat. "Let's go."

"Do you have cash? They don't take a card, you know," John said as he was pushed out the door.

"I always have cash. Three-hundred pounds, to be more exact," Sherlock said as he got in the cab and John told the cabbie the directions.

"Three-hundred pounds?!" John asked in a hushed whisper. "Why so much?"

"Why not?" Sherlock shrugged and looked out the window, watching the passing cars.

John sighed and sat back in his seat. He just figured he'll never understand the man and it was best to leave it that way.

-

"Poker?! Sherlock is playing -poker-?!" Lestrade asked, spotting John in a crowed and approaching him, seeing him watching Sherlock sitting at the poker table, face expertly straight and unreadable.

His eyes were darting from face to face around the table. He was deducing they in obviously fast speeds, John was mesmerized.

"Full house," He said, laying down his cards. "You have a two of a kind. You only have one, and you have nothing at all, I'm shocked you didn't fold when it was smart to. You just lost all your money in that final raise, you should have known trying to trick everyone into folding would be a dumb move, think a little!"

The group stood as Sherlock collected his rewards. John raised an eyebrow and looked at Greg, him obviously as shocked as he felt. With Greg on his heels, John moved over to Sherlock.

"You, um, doing well there?" John asked, pointing to Sherlock's stack of chips in multiple colors that were organized in front of him.

"Yeah, this game is easy. No matter how hard any of them try, they give away what they have with the flicks of their eyes. They tend to linger on their pairs, glance across if they have a full house or higher and just get flat out nervous if they don't have a thing," Sherlock laughed, pulling a beer bottle from under the table and taking a long drink. "Too easy!"

"Sherlock, you're drinking?!" Lestrade asked, eyeing the bottle. "I didn't think you drank!"

"I don't, but this is a special night!" Sherlock beamed, shuffling the cards in his hands. "Alcohol has no effect on me, seeing it's all in the mind."

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. He called over a waitress that was walking by and ordered two more beers for John and himself. Paying the girl as she handed over the drinks, he handed one to John and sat down at the table. "Deal me in, Sherlock," he said, taking a drink from the bottle.

"You sure, Greg?" John asked, watching Sherlock deal out the cards to Lestrade and two other people who sat down. "You know you're going to lose, right?"

"Eh, we'll see," Lestrade winked at John, whose face turned bright red at the gesture. "I used to be quiet good at this game."

"If you beat Sherlock," John said, polishing off his beer in a few swift swallows. "I'll kiss you."

Sherlock glanced at John swiftly at the bet as Greg and John shook hands. They all raised the card and the game began.

"Raise," Greg said, throwing in a few chips, smirking at Sherlock. He avoided looking at his cards and instead glanced around the table.

His face was unreadable, straight and serious. The only emotion he let slip was that smirk, then his face was as hard as stone yet again. His eyes were dark and portrayed nothing in them.

Sherlock watched him closely as one matched and the other raised.

"Raise," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes trained on Greg's face, who had gone to staring at the man.

"Raise," Lestrade mirrored, throwing a few more chips in.

"Fold," The guy a couple seats down from Lestrade said, standing a leaving, beer in hand.

"Match," The other guys said, throwing in a few chips that matched Lestrade's.

"Raise," Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow, as though challenging Lestrade.

"Raise," Greg mirrored again, returning the raised eyebrow.

"Fold."

It was only Greg and Sherlock now.

"Four of a kind," Sherlock smiled, placing his cards down to show Greg, smiling broadly.

Lestrade looked up at John, who was staring at him, drinking another beer, the first two bottles he's already downed in this game alone hanging in his other hand. Lestrade winked up at him again (John blushing yet again and almost spitting out his beer) and lay down his hand.

"Straight. Flush," He said, pronouncing each word slowly and clearly with a smile.

Sherlock stared in awe as Greg threw his fists in the air, smiling widely. There were crashes of beer bottles and before Lestrade could even lower his arms, John was in his lap, kissing him deeply and cupping his face in his hands. Greg wrapped his arms around John's waist as the kiss stretched out. He ran his tongue along John's bottom lip and was pleasantly surprised when John opened his mouth to let him in.

Sherlock watched angrily as Lestrade and John made out, John grinding his hips into Lestrade. He slammed his hands down on the table and stormed out of the casino.


	2. Chapter 2: Know Your Enemy

John's phone beeped just as Sherlock finished scattering their clothes over John's bedroom floor and they had fallen back onto John's bed, Sherlock on top and dominating John's body.

"Leave. It," Sherlock sneered into John's neck before bitting down and sucking on the soft skin roughly.

John shook his head and pushed Sherlock gently off, marveling in his full, naked body. The curves and rugged edges that could cut steal in half. The eyes that melted stone. Those hips that, when used as perfectly as he used them, could drive you easily mad. That erection that stood straight up and pointed, begging and pleading for attention. Damn...

John picked his phone up and raised it to his ear. "Hello?" His voice cracked as Sherlock shook his hips, his erection bouncing slightly and invitingly. John swallowed hard.

"John? What is he doing to you?" Greg demanded, sounding over and passed pissed off.

"G-Greg? I-I'm sorry... I can't be with you and... God..." Sherlock had gotten up and had pressed himself to the bed post, stroking himself and quietly moaning John's name. "Fuck..." The word brushed past his lips in barely a whisper.

"You can't be with me? Is this -his- doing?!" Greg barked.

"I-I... Ohhhhhh... Mhmmmmm..." John couldn't think straight as Sherlock came over and stepped behind him.

Sherlock's hands trailed over John's body, one hand traveling all the way down and wrapping long, bony fingers around John's throbbing length.

"John?!" Greg barked loud enough that Sherlock could hear him loud and clear.

Sherlock picked the phone out of John's fingers and whispered hotly into the mic, "He's with me, now, Lestrade. Go fuck yourself."

The line died as Sherlock closed the phone and tossed it across the room.

"Sh-Sherlock, that was... God..." John moaned as Sherlock's member pressed hard against his leg.

"Would you rather go running back to him, or would you rather me take care of that little problem of yours?" Sherlock breathed into John's ear, running his thumb over John's tip and pressing slightly. His other hand landed lightly on John's waist and his chin leaned on his shoulder.

John yelped as Sherlock nipped at the skin under his jaw. He felt his tongue flash out over the now-damaged skin and hissed as it left a trail of cool saliva running down his jaw.

"W-would you help?" John asked, his eyes fluttering closed.

Sherlock chuckled deeply and laid John down on his bed, climbing over him and pressing their erections together.

"Of course," Sherlock hummed, running his tongue over John's lips and his hands over John now-hardening nipples.

He twisted them gently between his fingers and ground his hips into John's, causing him to yelp and hiss and admit all these strangely arousing sounds loudly into the quiet flat that Sherlock fed off of to move closer.

-

Lestrade stared at his phone in his hand as the line went dead, ringing a very annoying bell in his ear until he hung up his end. He threw his phone to the wall as hard as he could, listening to it break into pieces and rain down to the floor. He didn't care. The phone was worthless and never truly broke; the least of his problems.

John had said yes to -him-, not the hyperactive minded git. Had he cared? Did he even want Greg to begin with, or did he just know it would be enough to get under Sherlock's skin? Had John -used- him?

Lestrade growled and slumped onto his couch, his teeth grinding. He wanted John all to himself. He didn't want Sherlock, the arrogant bastard that got every little thing he wanted by throwing a fit, to have that amazing man. He didn't deserve him.

After only a few hours of having John, kissing him while sober and actually letting themselves have fun with the whole ordeal, Lestrade didn't want it to stop. He was starting to get these feelings, stronger then the ones he's had for any of his past girlfriends. Even stronger then those he felt for his ex-wife. His head was spinning with moments of John.

God damn Sherlock fucking Holmes.

-

John's phone insisted on continuing it's hissy fit under the pillow on the ground as Sherlock wrapped John's leg over his shoulder. He shot the phone an angry glance out of the corner of his eye before he swooped down and slid his tongue along the head of John's erection. John hissed and moaned, fisting his hands into the sheet. He threw his head back in a silent scream as Sherlock continued this motion over and over again. Noises John didn't even know he could make escaped his lips as he hands felt for something, anything, to hold onto. The sheets tore under his nails and his toes were beginning to curl.

Sherlock, after licking his way all the way around John's erection, slid his tongue south. John screamed Sherlock's name to the sky as Sherlock's tongue made it's way into John's entrance. He pressed as deep as he could, licking the bundle of nerves that drove John crazy. His eyes spun, his head felt like it exploded, and his body went into a overdrive only Sherlock's tongue could cause.

John's hips bucked up and his eyes rolled in his head, making the room spin and dance about. Sherlock chuckled as a girly squeal emitted from his mouth. The chuckle did things to John. As it traveled down through the tongue that had penetrated him, John thrusted his hips into Sherlock's face. Sherlock pulled out and smirked up as his desperate flatmate, who was screaming his name. He crawled up and nudged his nose with his own. Without warning, John was filled with Sherlock's erection. He opened his mouth to scream, only to be stopped by Sherlock's own mouth covering and devouring his.

"John," Sherlock's voice was hot and heavy with lust, sending shivers down John's spine and straight to his already throbbing erection. "I want you as mine..."

John moaned, his head trying to wrap around the words that danced their way into his ears. "I... Am..." He panted, his grip on the sheets tightening.

"No, no, no," Sherlock whispered, his lips brushing against the bridge of John's ear. "Say you'll stay mine. Say you'll always be mine and no one else's. Say you'll date me."

John nodded furiously as Sherlock gave a hard thrust, pounding into John's bundle of nerves again. "Yours..." He panted, sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyes.

John's hair was plastered to his head. His breathing was shallow and uneven and his body was on fire.

He screamed, partly Sherlock's name, partly just a scream, as Sherlock thrust one last time deeply into John and released his orgasm. He rode it out in rough, long waves, the cum spilling out of John and onto the bed. As soon as he was done, John soon followed suit and released himself all over his own stomach. Another tear in the sheets, another moan and scream from John's mouth, and one last deep thrust by Sherlock until it was over.

Sherlock pulled out and lay on top of John, making it even harder to breath then it already was. He kissed John long and hard and deep, pulling the man close so their whole bodies were touching. Just the kiss, just the way Sherlock used his tongue to pry his lips open, was enough to get him close to becoming dangerously hard again. It was painful.

John was in love.


	3. Chapter 3: Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

John's phone beeped just as Sherlock finished scattering their clothes over John's bedroom floor and they had fallen back onto John's bed, Sherlock on top and dominating John's body.

"Leave. It," Sherlock sneered into John's neck before bitting down and sucking on the soft skin roughly.

John shook his head and pushed Sherlock gently off, marveling in his full, naked body. The curves and rugged edges that could cut steal in half. The eyes that melted stone. Those hips that, when used as perfectly as he used them, could drive you easily mad. That erection that stood straight up and pointed, begging and pleading for attention. Damn...

John picked his phone up and raised it to his ear. "Hello?" His voice cracked as Sherlock shook his hips, his erection bouncing slightly and invitingly. John swallowed hard.

"John? What is he doing to you?" Greg demanded, sounding over and passed pissed off.

"G-Greg? I-I'm sorry... I can't be with you and... God..." Sherlock had gotten up and had pressed himself to the bed post, stroking himself and quietly moaning John's name. "Fuck..." The word brushed past his lips in barely a whisper.

"You can't be with me? Is this -his- doing?!" Greg barked.

"I-I... Ohhhhhh... Mhmmmmm..." John couldn't think straight as Sherlock came over and stepped behind him.

Sherlock's hands trailed over John's body, one hand traveling all the way down and wrapping long, bony fingers around John's throbbing length.

"John?!" Greg barked loud enough that Sherlock could hear him loud and clear.

Sherlock picked the phone out of John's fingers and whispered hotly into the mic, "He's with me, now, Lestrade. Go fuck yourself."

The line died as Sherlock closed the phone and tossed it across the room.

"Sh-Sherlock, that was... God..." John moaned as Sherlock's member pressed hard against his leg.

"Would you rather go running back to him, or would you rather me take care of that little problem of yours?" Sherlock breathed into John's ear, running his thumb over John's tip and pressing slightly. His other hand landed lightly on John's waist and his chin leaned on his shoulder.

John yelped as Sherlock nipped at the skin under his jaw. He felt his tongue flash out over the now-damaged skin and hissed as it left a trail of cool saliva running down his jaw.

"W-would you help?" John asked, his eyes fluttering closed.

Sherlock chuckled deeply and laid John down on his bed, climbing over him and pressing their erections together.

"Of course," Sherlock hummed, running his tongue over John's lips and his hands over John now-hardening nipples.

He twisted them gently between his fingers and ground his hips into John's, causing him to yelp and hiss and admit all these strangely arousing sounds loudly into the quiet flat that Sherlock fed off of to move closer.

-

Lestrade stared at his phone in his hand as the line went dead, ringing a very annoying bell in his ear until he hung up his end. He threw his phone to the wall as hard as he could, listening to it break into pieces and rain down to the floor. He didn't care. The phone was worthless and never truly broke; the least of his problems.

John had said yes to -him-, not the hyperactive minded git. Had he cared? Did he even want Greg to begin with, or did he just know it would be enough to get under Sherlock's skin? Had John -used- him?

Lestrade growled and slumped onto his couch, his teeth grinding. He wanted John all to himself. He didn't want Sherlock, the arrogant bastard that got every little thing he wanted by throwing a fit, to have that amazing man. He didn't deserve him.

After only a few hours of having John, kissing him while sober and actually letting themselves have fun with the whole ordeal, Lestrade didn't want it to stop. He was starting to get these feelings, stronger then the ones he's had for any of his past girlfriends. Even stronger then those he felt for his ex-wife. His head was spinning with moments of John.

God damn Sherlock fucking Holmes.

-

John's phone insisted on continuing it's hissy fit under the pillow on the ground as Sherlock wrapped John's leg over his shoulder. He shot the phone an angry glance out of the corner of his eye before he swooped down and slid his tongue along the head of John's erection. John hissed and moaned, fisting his hands into the sheet. He threw his head back in a silent scream as Sherlock continued this motion over and over again. Noises John didn't even know he could make escaped his lips as he hands felt for something, anything, to hold onto. The sheets tore under his nails and his toes were beginning to curl.

Sherlock, after licking his way all the way around John's erection, slid his tongue south. John screamed Sherlock's name to the sky as Sherlock's tongue made it's way into John's entrance. He pressed as deep as he could, licking the bundle of nerves that drove John crazy. His eyes spun, his head felt like it exploded, and his body went into a overdrive only Sherlock's tongue could cause.

John's hips bucked up and his eyes rolled in his head, making the room spin and dance about. Sherlock chuckled as a girly squeal emitted from his mouth. The chuckle did things to John. As it traveled down through the tongue that had penetrated him, John thrusted his hips into Sherlock's face. Sherlock pulled out and smirked up as his desperate flatmate, who was screaming his name. He crawled up and nudged his nose with his own. Without warning, John was filled with Sherlock's erection. He opened his mouth to scream, only to be stopped by Sherlock's own mouth covering and devouring his.

"John," Sherlock's voice was hot and heavy with lust, sending shivers down John's spine and straight to his already throbbing erection. "I want you as mine..."

John moaned, his head trying to wrap around the words that danced their way into his ears. "I... Am..." He panted, his grip on the sheets tightening.

"No, no, no," Sherlock whispered, his lips brushing against the bridge of John's ear. "Say you'll stay mine. Say you'll always be mine and no one else's. Say you'll date me."

John nodded furiously as Sherlock gave a hard thrust, pounding into John's bundle of nerves again. "Yours..." He panted, sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyes.

John's hair was plastered to his head. His breathing was shallow and uneven and his body was on fire.

He screamed, partly Sherlock's name, partly just a scream, as Sherlock thrust one last time deeply into John and released his orgasm. He rode it out in rough, long waves, the cum spilling out of John and onto the bed. As soon as he was done, John soon followed suit and released himself all over his own stomach. Another tear in the sheets, another moan and scream from John's mouth, and one last deep thrust by Sherlock until it was over.

Sherlock pulled out and lay on top of John, making it even harder to breath then it already was. He kissed John long and hard and deep, pulling the man close so their whole bodies were touching. Just the kiss, just the way Sherlock used his tongue to pry his lips open, was enough to get him close to becoming dangerously hard again. It was painful.

John was in love.


	4. Chapter 4: Fire

The night before was unforgettable. John's ass was painful, walking was almost unthinkable. Two nights in a row of being fucked by two different people was really taking a toll on his southern half. John moaned and rolled over slightly in Sherlock's arms, who was petting his hair and muttering loving words; something John never thought he would hear from the consulting detective. Sherlock has only once said he loved him, never in his wildest dreams would he think he would keep saying it, not like this.

"I love you, you sweet, loving, caring doctor," Sherlock purred, running his fingers through John's hair, which he must admit feels quiet good. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine."

"Sherlock, why are you like this all of a sudden?" John asked, closing his eyes as Sherlock kissed his nose. "You were never this... affectionate before."

"I never thought you wanted me to be," Sherlock whispered, brushing John's nose with his. "I thought you were straight and would reject me as soon as I tried to get close."

"I'm not gay..." John said slowly, thinking and bothering his bottom lip.

"Bi?"

John nodded, realizing that's all he could be. "Or you're just my exception."

"And Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"Another exception?"

"No, you're bi. But Lestrade is no longer an option. Nor are any woman you see because you're mine," Sherlock purred and nipped John's neck.

"I know," John smiled as he tilted his head back to let Sherlock play with his neck. "Do you want breakfast? I'm starved."

"Sounds nice, if I can help you cook," Sherlock smiled, kissing John gently and playfully.

"You won't be cooking, will you?" John asked as a smirk crossed Sherlock's face.

"In a way I will be," Sherlock winked and stood, his whole naked body seeming to glow in the morning light. John stared as he stood as well, dressing next to Sherlock.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist and drove him to the kitchen, his body seeming to radiate affection as John started some eggs. He turned the stove on and cracked an egg into the pan, standing over it and watching it. Sherlock came up behind him and rested his head on John's shoulder, pressing his body into John's and wrapping his arms around his waist. John swallowed and froze and the touch, unable to keep his mind away from what seemed to be the growing bulge now pressed firmly against his leg.

"Is this your... helping, Sherlock?" John asked, swallowing as Sherlock licked his neck.

"You're so beautifully marked," Sherlock purred, running a finger over, what John guessed was, a hicky on his neck. "Such adorable marked territory."

John blushed deeply and poked at the egg with a spatula. A hand wrapped around his and pulled the spatula up from the pan. Sherlock took the utensil and set it next to the stove, freeing his hands to start lifting John's shirt from his body. John was turned to face Sherlock as the clothing was pulled over his head.

"Can I at least turn off the st-"

"Nope," Sherlock smirked and kissed John feverishly, pushing him into the counter next to the stove. He threw John's shirt from his hands and ran his finger tips over the bare skin, John shivering at the touch.

John, hands shaking and the kiss deepening quickly, brought his hands up to the collar of Sherlock's shirt. He started working on the top button, working it open with shaky fingers as quickly as he could. He worked the buttons down the shirt and tore it from Sherlock's body, letting it fall to the floor. He felt Sherlock's hands grasp his pants button he took a quick breath in through his nose in pleasant surprise. That's when he smelled it... Smoke.

Fire.

His eyes shot open and his hands pulled Sherlock's from his pants, which were now undone and almost to the point of falling to the ground as well. He pushed Sherlock from him and hushed the man quickly as he began to protest loudly. He looked to the stove where his shirt had landed, fire engulfed the whole half of the kitchen right next to them.

The heat finally registered to John's body, sweat trickling down his forehead and arms. Sherlock was watching the flames, shocked at the sight, sweat coating his arms and face as well. John shook himself from the shock and took Sherlock's hand in his, pulling him from the flames. They were too big to fight off with the extinguisher alone so they had no other choice but to flee the flat, letting the flames take over completely. John pulled Sherlock to the front door and started down the stairs, never letting go of his hand. He pulled Sherlock from the building just as sirens rang in the background, howling towards their flat.

Mrs. Hudson stood outside and watched the smoke dance in the blue sky. Her eyes landed on them as soon as they had come down, coughing and eyes watering. John pulled Sherlock towards her and sat him down on the curb on the other side of the street. They couldn't have been exposed to smoke too much, they would have been able to tell even in their blurry minded state of arousal, but John still wanted to check over his flatmate seeing he was thrown into a coughing fit.

John put his palm to Sherlock's bare chest, feeling Sherlock's breathing. It was shaky and he could feel the struggle for air. He took Sherlock's wrist and felt for a pulse. Elevated pulse rate, but that could easily be from the coughing and running they just did. John sat next to Sherlock on the curb as police cars and firetrucks pulled up and got to work. He took Sherlock's free hand, the one not being used to cover his coughs, in his own and held it tight with both hands. He leaned in close to Sherlock to make sure his breathing and heart rate went back to normal.

"Ugh..." Sherlock growled, his coughing subsiding and his eyes fixing on one spot ahead of them.

"You okay?" John asked, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"Fine... Bloody smoke..." Sherlock growled and looked at John, smiling as his eyes met John's. He gently pecked him on the lips before looking back at the burning building. "Ugh, what is -he- doing here?" He hissed in disgust, lip snaring.

"Who..?" John started before his eyes landed on Lestrade, standing a few feet away from a police car. He was talking to Anderson before his eyes landed on John and Sherlock.

He excused himself from the conversation with Anderson and made his way over to the pair.

"You okay, John?" Lestrade asked, bending down in front of the man and placing a hand on John's knee.

"I'm fine, thank you, Greg," John blushed slightly as Lestrade smiled with care into John's eyes.

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously and he wrapped an arm around John's waist. He shifted closer until their hips were touching. Lestrade looked over at Sherlock and his face instantly changed. The care and love that was caressing Lestrade's features quickly changed into something of hate and anger. He stood and stared down his nose at Sherlock.

"And I see you're fine..." Lestrade said, slightly disgusted by the thought.

Sherlock stood against John's protests and looked down at Lestrade. "What are you even doing here, Lestrade?" Sherlock growled, coughing deeply into his sleeve after but not losing the threatening glare he was shooting Lestrade.

"Was called down here for a fire to a flat," Lestrade growled. "I wasn't told it was starting by an annoying git."

Sherlock got into Lestrade face and sneered down at him. "You're just mad because your little boyfriend broke up with you for -me-."

Fists clenched at Lestrade's sides as he got up so close to Sherlock that their noses almost touched. They glared at each other for a few minutes, John watching down on the curb. He gasped as a nice loud pop sounded, indicating Lestrade had just punched Sherlock right in the face. Sherlock fell back, his nose bleeding down his face.

John rushed over to his side and put a hand to Sherlock's back as he sat up and placed a hand to his streaming nose. John glared up at Lestrade angrily and stood to face him.

"Get out," John sneered, pointing over to the police cars, his voice poisonous.

"What?"

"Go! Get out of here!" John shouted, his teeth grinding and his fist clenching. "I don't want to see you ever again! You don't punch Sherlock!"

Lestrade stood, frozen to the spot, before slowly heading back over to the scene. His heart dropped into his stomach as he heard John fuss over Sherlock behind him. Anderson rushed up to him, but honestly, he didn't listen. He kept moving, ignoring anyone and everyone who tried to talk to him, and folded himself into his car. He pulled from the curb and quickly headed home, breaking a few driving laws on his way. As he entered his flat, he closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. He folded into a ball and started to cry softly, his heart breaking as John's words tore and buried themselves into Lestrade.


	5. Chapter 5: Viva La Vida Fix You

John takes his coat from the rack and slipped it over his shoulders, feeling the cool leather slid over his skin. He was wearing something outside his normal out-wear, and it didn't take Sherlock more than a couple seconds to realize the difference. Being pulled from his deep thoughts, Sherlock stood and glided over to John, moving around him and looking him over. He stopped in front of John and looked him over, hands raising to his chin.

"Sherlock?" John asked, watching his flat mate stare down at his clothes.

Sherlock snapped his attention back to John.

"You're different. But why? T-shirt, obviously going no where fancy. But you're wearing your good jacket, meaning you care about what people think of you at this place. Dark glasses even though the clouds are out and such a item isn't needed. Jeans, new, but ripped, obviously bought that way. Been worn once, no, twice. Three times now. Shirt, plain white, meant to give you a... mysterious look, am I correct, of course I am. But why would you want to look mysterious unless you were going somewhere with a tougher crowed? No gun, so obviously not a bar. Cash, one-hundred, no, one-fifty pounds in your pocket. Going gambling are we?" Sherlock said, ending with a smile.

John stood there and listened to Sherlock, mouth open slightly. He shook his head and snapped out of the trance. "There is no way you knew how much money I had on me just by-"

"Receipt, John," Sherlock said, holding up the small piece of paper. He pocketed it and continued. "I want to come."

"What?" John laughed, raising his eyebrow at Sherlock. "You? Gamble? Why?"

"No, I've never gambled," Sherlock sighed, looking at the door, annoyance crossing his facial features. "But it's boring here, theres no new cases, and I wouldn't mind trying it."

John sighed, letting the smile slip from his face. He shrugged and looked Sherlock over. "Fine, if you want to come along. I'm meeting Greg there, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came."

"Greg? You mean Lestrade?"

"Yes, Sherlock. His name -is- Greg."

Sherlock shrugged and reached over John for his coat. "Let's go."

"Do you have cash? They don't take a card, you know," John said as he was pushed out the door.

"I always have cash. Three-hundred pounds, to be more exact," Sherlock said as he got in the cab and John told the cabbie the directions.

"Three-hundred pounds?!" John asked in a hushed whisper. "Why so much?"

"Why not?" Sherlock shrugged and looked out the window, watching the passing cars.

John sighed and sat back in his seat. He just figured he'll never understand the man and it was best to leave it that way.

-

"Poker?! Sherlock is playing -poker-?!" Lestrade asked, spotting John in a crowed and approaching him, seeing him watching Sherlock sitting at the poker table, face expertly straight and unreadable.

His eyes were darting from face to face around the table. He was deducing they in obviously fast speeds, John was mesmerized.

"Full house," He said, laying down his cards. "You have a two of a kind. You only have one, and you have nothing at all, I'm shocked you didn't fold when it was smart to. You just lost all your money in that final raise, you should have known trying to trick everyone into folding would be a dumb move, think a little!"

The group stood as Sherlock collected his rewards. John raised an eyebrow and looked at Greg, him obviously as shocked as he felt. With Greg on his heels, John moved over to Sherlock.

"You, um, doing well there?" John asked, pointing to Sherlock's stack of chips in multiple colors that were organized in front of him.

"Yeah, this game is easy. No matter how hard any of them try, they give away what they have with the flicks of their eyes. They tend to linger on their pairs, glance across if they have a full house or higher and just get flat out nervous if they don't have a thing," Sherlock laughed, pulling a beer bottle from under the table and taking a long drink. "Too easy!"

"Sherlock, you're drinking?!" Lestrade asked, eyeing the bottle. "I didn't think you drank!"

"I don't, but this is a special night!" Sherlock beamed, shuffling the cards in his hands. "Alcohol has no effect on me, seeing it's all in the mind."

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. He called over a waitress that was walking by and ordered two more beers for John and himself. Paying the girl as she handed over the drinks, he handed one to John and sat down at the table. "Deal me in, Sherlock," he said, taking a drink from the bottle.

"You sure, Greg?" John asked, watching Sherlock deal out the cards to Lestrade and two other people who sat down. "You know you're going to lose, right?"

"Eh, we'll see," Lestrade winked at John, whose face turned bright red at the gesture. "I used to be quiet good at this game."

"If you beat Sherlock," John said, polishing off his beer in a few swift swallows. "I'll kiss you."

Sherlock glanced at John swiftly at the bet as Greg and John shook hands. They all raised the card and the game began.

"Raise," Greg said, throwing in a few chips, smirking at Sherlock. He avoided looking at his cards and instead glanced around the table.

His face was unreadable, straight and serious. The only emotion he let slip was that smirk, then his face was as hard as stone yet again. His eyes were dark and portrayed nothing in them.

Sherlock watched him closely as one matched and the other raised.

"Raise," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes trained on Greg's face, who had gone to staring at the man.

"Raise," Lestrade mirrored, throwing a few more chips in.

"Fold," The guy a couple seats down from Lestrade said, standing a leaving, beer in hand.

"Match," The other guys said, throwing in a few chips that matched Lestrade's.

"Raise," Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow, as though challenging Lestrade.

"Raise," Greg mirrored again, returning the raised eyebrow.

"Fold."

It was only Greg and Sherlock now.

"Four of a kind," Sherlock smiled, placing his cards down to show Greg, smiling broadly.

Lestrade looked up at John, who was staring at him, drinking another beer, the first two bottles he's already downed in this game alone hanging in his other hand. Lestrade winked up at him again (John blushing yet again and almost spitting out his beer) and lay down his hand.

"Straight. Flush," He said, pronouncing each word slowly and clearly with a smile.

Sherlock stared in awe as Greg threw his fists in the air, smiling widely. There were crashes of beer bottles and before Lestrade could even lower his arms, John was in his lap, kissing him deeply and cupping his face in his hands. Greg wrapped his arms around John's waist as the kiss stretched out. He ran his tongue along John's bottom lip and was pleasantly surprised when John opened his mouth to let him in.

Sherlock watched angrily as Lestrade and John made out, John grinding his hips into Lestrade. He slammed his hands down on the table and stormed out of the casino.


End file.
